Pass Notes
by Hemmingweigh
Summary: Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes begin writing letters to one another about household matters, which leads to exchanges they might never be able to make face to face.
1. Chapter 1

**March 12, 1920**

_- Elsie Hughes opens the door to her sitting room and walks inside. It is late. She is tired. The paperwork will take her a few minutes, then bed for her exhausted body. It seems she is always the last person in the house to go to bed… She pauses. Something looks out of place. A small paper on her desk, folded in half. She opens it. _

Mrs. Hughes,

Stopped by this evening to talk about changing around the breakfast service, but you appear to have gone to bed. The maids mustn't use the wrong service tomorrow for her Ladyship's breakfast.

Regards

C. Carson

_- She snorts. As if her girls would ever use the wrong service. He know full well that she has that taken care of. She looks down at her pen and paper and thinks for a moment. She won't see him first thing tomorrow. Might as well. _

Mr. Carson,

The maids are quite aware that they mustn't use the wrong service, but I appreciate the reminder.

I might ask in turn that Alfred and Jimmy lay the main breakfast table on time, and not be a nuisance to the scullery maid when she prepares the fire.

Regards,

E. Hughes

_- She folds it in half. When she is done with her paperwork she creeps into his office and places it on his desk, finding she is not as tired as she was before. _

C&E

**March 13, 1920**

_- Most of the household are in bed. Mrs. Hughes makes a final check of the kitchen, the store cupboard, then remembers the linen inventory she must go over. A wave of exhaustion hits. She'll make it quick. The light is dim in her small sitting room. She stops. On the desk, another folded piece of paper. A faint smile crosses her lips. _

Mrs. Hughes,

I must thank you for ensuring the maids used the correct tea service for breakfast this morning.

It also befits me to say the footmen have, as far as I am aware, never been a nuisance to the scullery maid when preparing the dinning room in the morning. Alfred and Jimmy are quite above such behaviour. Thank you, however, for bringing the issue to my attention.

Regards,

C. Carson.

_- Tight-mouthed, she shakes her head. Reaches for the pen._

Mr. Carson,

There have been at least two occasions this year when the scullery maid found herself rushing to finish up the fire because the two footmen were tallying about and proving a distraction. On one occasion, his Lordship entered the dining room mere seconds after she left.

Regards,

E. Hughes

_- She blows on the ink to dry it, and presses the crease together with her fingers. She walks back to his office, looks and enters. She places it on his desk, then shuts the door, leaving it in darkness. _

C&E

**March 14, 1920**

_- Another late night. The downstairs corridors are quiet and dark. Work is done for the day and night. Mrs. Hughes is climbing the stairs to bed, then stops. She turns and walks back into her office. Looks around. Another folded paper lies on her desk. _

Mrs. Hughes,

I was not aware of the occasion you speak of, in which his Lordship barely missed the presence of your soot-covered scullery maid in the dining room. However I must agree it would have been highly unprofessional for her to be seen. Might I suggest you have a word with the maid, to ensure that she begins the dining room fire at an early enough time, so that she does not become a distraction to the footmen and, God forbid, a sore sight for his Lordship. I trust that you have it in hand.

Regards,

C. Carson

_- She grabs the pen. _

Mr. Carson,

The scullery maid is up and working well before your footmen, to ensure that there are fires in at least six other rooms in the house. That is before she even reaches the dining room. I can assure you that she still gives herself enough time to start the fire. The problem is the footmen. If Alfred and Jimmy were a little more focused on their work, and not so much on flirting with the scullery maid, we would have nothing to worry about. I trust that you have it in hand.

Regards,

E. Hughes

_- She thinks for a moment, then underlines "you." She flaps the paper to dry the ink, then folds it, pushes back her chair and marches to his office. A quick look around, and she leaves it once again in the darkness. _

C&E

**March 15, 1920**

_- She closes the back door, killing the cold, nighttime draft that wants to invade the house. Twists her iron key to lock it. The downstairs corridors are empty again. She walks casually to her sitting room, the clicks of her heels echoing through the halls. She open the door and the first thing she sees is the folded paper. _

Mrs. Hughes,

I find it surprising to think that the footmen are "flirting," as you suggest, with the scullery maid during their morning duties. Such behaviour would be a disgrace. I have spent a great deal of time explaining to them that we must all embody the beauty and grace of this house in our everyday work, dutifully serving the family with complete devotion. This is what exemplifies a good servant. It is something that I strive towards everyday, and I regret if I have failed to pass on such key principles to the footmen. I shall have a word with them tomorrow. In the meantime, I do appreciate your candour, and your own loyalty to the house.

Regards,

C. Hughes

_- She stares at the letter for a while. Re-reads it. Her eyes rest on a nearby table, her vision going blurry. She takes a pen. _

Mr. Carson,

I appreciate that you have agreed to speak to Alfred and Jimmy about this. I would not venture to say that that they are un-loyal to the household, or undignified. They are perfectly good footmen, and fine young men. Our scullery maid is a hard-working lass. Nonetheless all three of them are young. They are, one could say, more prone than we are to letting themselves go a little. Much as I want the scullery maid to stay out of sight, I do not see that as deplorable. In fact I think it is

_- She stops. She crosses out the last sentence, then signs her name. E. Hughes. She opens the door to his office, and places the letter on his desk. _

C&E

**March 16, 1920**

_- Elsie Hughes rubs her arms after shutting the back door. It is a little colder in the house tonight. Or it could be that she is just nervous, about how he might respond. If he responds. In the day they greet each other and talk as if the letters never happen. It is odd. She wonders if she should bring it up, but in the moment it never feels right. She opens the door to her sitting room. The paper is there. _

Mrs. Hughes,

I understand that men and women of the service have their various proclivities, but there is a time and place for everything. When we are in service to this esteemed household, one that has seen some of the finest people in England pass through its doors, we are beholden to the grace of his Lordship and the family. As such we must not make the smallest mistake, lest it reflects unfavourably on the honour of this house.

That said, you are an honourable woman and I do not think for a moment that the behaviour of the staff say anything about your good character.

Regards,

C. Carson.

_- He has crossed something out at the very end. She can't read it. He has covered it up perfectly with a square of dark ink. She takes her pen. _

Mr. Carson,

It is kind of you to say that about my character. I would say the same for you. You are a dignified and honourable man who takes great care in his profession.

I agree with your principles of duty and honour towards the household, but I can't help but care about the lives of the staff just as much as I aspire to serve the house. I often wonder about the lives the maids could be living outside of service, unconstrained by long cleaning schedules and back-breaking drudgery. I think of William and think of his life cut short.

I am sorry to be sentimental, and I truly believe in the greatness of this house. I simply wish for the happiness of the staff, which also includes yours. I would normally find it odd ask it in person, but since we are resorting to letters perhaps I'll go ahead. Are you happy, Mr. Carson?

Regards,

E. Hughes

_- She purses her lips and blows on the words. Her heart beating, she places the letter on his desk, and closes the door. _

C&E

**March 17, 1920**

_- She is fiddling with the linens, absentmindedly. Work upstairs is done and the old staircase groans under her footsteps as she heads back down to her office. She opens the door. No paper. Her heart sinks. Then she sees something on the upper left corner of the desk. He has put it somewhere differently this time. She licks her lips and sits down. Opens the paper. _

Mrs. Hughes,

I have thought a great deal about your question. It is hard for me to know how to answer, but I will try. I am very happy with my life here at Downton. It is a delight to serve his Lordship and the Grantham family, and there is perhaps no greater privilege to start each morning with my list of duties as the butler. Our staff may have their shortcomings, but on the whole I am also very happy with what we manage to achieve every day.

I am also very happy to receive your letters. We may not speak much of these things face to face, but it is also a privilege to start each morning with a letter from you on my desk.

Regards,

C. Carson

P.S. Forgive me for not asking already. Are you happy?

_- She lets out a breath. In a second, the pen is in her hand. _

Mr. Carson,

I am glad to write these letters to you. You asked if I was happy, and the answer is that I am. I have become a different person in the last few decades from when I first came into service. I was naive back then. I know now that one cannot always have what one wants in life. By that I mean to say that in service, we often find ourselves working among people that we admire and care a great deal for, but are duty bound to not say much of it. I suppose we must not be like Alfred and Jimmy and the scullery maid.

It also makes me very happy to see a letter from you on my desk each night.

Regards,

E. Hughes

_- She pauses before writing those last few words, and then writes them anyway. She flaps the paper in her hand to dry the ink. In the darkness of his office, she places it on his desk, a little more tenderly than usual. _


	2. Chapter 2

**This is the second and last update for this story. Not sure how well this turned out, but thought I'd take a shot anyway.** **Disclaimer: Characters aren't mine, but I sure wish they were. **

**March 18, 1920**

_- She checks to see there is no one in the kitchen. The sound of urgent footsteps fades away. It is Mr. Carson. She waits behind a corner for him to go upstairs. During the day they have exchanged pleasantries and talked of practical matters as usual, but a simple brushing of hands now startles them; a momentary locking of eyes makes her heart jump. She looks forward to these letters now, and the young, mischievous feeling they give her. She slides into her sitting room. The note is there as usual_.

Mrs. Hughes,

I have thought a great deal about how to write this to you. I have come to the difficult decision that it is unprofessional for us to have a daily exchange like this. Our primary duty is to the house, and we must avoid engaging in distractions that can steer us off course. As you say, "one cannot always have what one wants in life." There is much value to denying oneself for a greater cause, such as serving a noble family. I am sorry.

Regards,

C. Carson

_- She feels her mouth go dry, and slumps a little in the chair. She reads the letter once more. A cloud comes over her. She picks up her pen and lets it hover an inch above the paper. She wonders if she should bother. _

Mr. Carson,

I understand your concern and will respect your wish.

I hope you find that serving a noble family is worth all the trouble in the end.

Regards,

E. Hughes

- _Elsie yanks her fingers over the fold of the paper and lets out a slow breath. Ah, well. She should have known he'd do an about-face like this. All this sharing goes against his principles. She delivers it to his desk, frowning_.

/

**March 24, 1920**

_- A week later it is a cold, bright morning. A young boy cycles up to the back door with the daily post, a long satchel knocking against his legs. Charles Carson sorts through it. He knocks on the door of Mrs. Hughes sitting room. She is not there. He returns an hour later, and knocks again. A muffled "yes" from inside. He tells her she has a letter. She gives him a strange look. He hands it to her and disappears quickly. Still staring at the door she tears it open, then drops a hand to her knee. _

Mr. Hughes,

Forgive me for sending you this letter. I know that I suggested we should not write to one another, but I see now that I was being too severe. I surmised it was also within the bounds of protocol for me to write to you through the traditional post, rather than dropping notes off at your desk at night.

Though it is very, very much beside the point, I also enjoyed our correspondence.

I hope you will forgive me for trying to end our exchange in the manner I did. It is important to me that you are happy.

I know that it is hard to understand the extent of my loyalty to Downtown. I know it may seem alien to you. Serving is all I have ever known. I expect you of all people to understand that.

Regards,

C. Carson.

_- She shakes her head and stuffs the letter into the pocket of her dress. She marches out into the hallway, and scans the rooms for him. He is in his pantry, bent over a notebook. She holds up the letter, asks what it is. He bristles, then looks past her. Alfred is walking past in the hallways. He acts as though he suddenly remembers something and calls out to Alfred, darting past Elsie and down the corridor. She looks on, open mouthed, and puts the letter back in her pocket. She refuses to spend her wages on stamps for this man. _

Mr. Carson,

I fail to understand why you need to resort to _mailing_ a letter to me. It is strange enough that we are not speaking face-to-face on matters of the heart, but to put a letter through the postal system seems a tad excessive. You should also know that your previous letter was unnecessarily harsh. I've worked with you for God knows how many years, and I know the strict principles you operate under, but I hope you do not do that again.

I do understand the concept of service for a lifetime. But service is not all I have ever known, neither is it all you have ever known. I know you had a life before being the butler at Downton, and it is nothing to be ashamed of. There is a softer part of you that the house doesn't see and I have been fortunate to catch it from time to time.

There's no need to post your next letter. I am glad to read something from you, but for the sake of our salaries let us please rely on good, old-fashioned hand delivery.

Regards,

E. Hughes

_- She shakes her writing hand, then massages it. It's been a while since she wrote to him, and this one was long. She wonders if she is being too easy on him. But she meant what she said. She folds the paper and puts it in her pocket, then puts it on the desk in his dark and empty pantry. She imagines him reading it the next morning and the thought makes her smile a little_.

/

**March 25, 1920**

_He has complied with her wish, and not sent another letter by post. There is a new note on her desk, folded and slightly open. She brings over the gas lamp she is carrying and eases into her chair. Opens the note_.

Dear Mrs. Hughes,

I must thank you for your patience with me, and I apologise for the offence I caused earlier.

It is true that I am repulsed by my past on the stage, a time spent galavanting with performers in a rather undignified manner. I like to try and forget that part of my life, but in the act of forgetting I have changed, and in changing, that younger part of me has grown rather small and weak. Sometimes, I do wonder about how life might have been if I had stayed on the stage. What I might have been like.

I wonder how I might have acted differently towards you.

Yours,

C. Carson

_- She purses her lips, and looks around. Of course there is no one on the entire downstairs floor, never mind her sitting room. But her face is flush and she is thankful no one can see it. She reaches for her pen_. _She thinks for a very long time about what to say._

Dear Mr. Carson,

How would you have acted differently towards me?

I would like to know.

Yours,

E. Hughes

_- The door to his pantry creaks open as she puts the note on his desk. _

/

**March 26, 1920**

_- They are passing by one another in between the serving of dinner upstairs, and as she hands him a tray he thanks her, and she notices that he catches her eye for a little longer than is normal. During dinner with the staff downstairs, someone tells a joke and he chuckles more easily than before, his shoulders relaxing into a shudder that she and the other staff aren't used to seeing. The staff like seeing their superior in a lighter mood, and they try to enjoy it because they don't know how long it will last. Then in his last hours of clearing up, she swears she hears him humming down the corridor._

**10.45pm**

_- The downstairs hallway is quiet and dark, and she enters her sitting room. There is another note. As she goes to pick it up, she seeys there is not much written on it. Just four words: _

"Let me show you."

/

/

There is a light knock on the door, and she spins around. She sees his tall frame, his easy eyes. _What has changed in him and why_, she wonders. And before she can take the question any further he asks if he can come in, and she hears herself say "yes." The door shuts behind him, and he walks towards her. From behind his back he pulls out a small bouquet of flowers from the garden. He hands them to her.

"This is one thing I would do differently," he says.

She gasps a little, and is surprised at the pleasure she feels from the simple act of receiving flowers. It has been years since anyone gave her flowers. She feels herself blushing again, and as she stands up to take them her fingers brush against his. She feels that electric current again.

"Oh," she says softly. "These are lovely. Thank you."

She looks at the flowers, and then at him. She doesn't know what to say anymore, and is suddenly feeling very shy.

"It is hard for me to say certain things," he says, breaking the silence. "I've known that for a long time but writing these… letters helped me see that I had things I wanted to say. Things I needed to say. And that I'm still the sort of person that can say those things."

"I see," she says, gripping the flowers. "What are those things, then?"

"You mean a great deal to me." He takes one hand away from the flowers and encases it in both of his, then moves closer to her. "Dearest Mrs. Hughes." He kisses her hand slowly, tenderly, and closes his eyes.

She feels herself getting lighter, as if her knees might disappear from under her, but she holds steady.

"Mr. Carson," she says, almost whispering.

"Yes?"

"You mean a great deal to me too. More than what I could write in a letter."

He smiles.

"I hope you liked my penmanship."

"I'll admit it was better than most."

"Then let me tell you something I could never put into a letter."

She is about to ask what that is, but then he has leaned over and found her lips with his, giving her the tender kiss that she has waited so many years for.

She closes her eyes and feels the pressure of his mouth, feels the way his solid hands find their way to her waist to bring her closer to him, and her mind opens to the memory of the way he signed his last few letters. "Yours, C. Carson." He is yours now, she tells herself. Finally. She kisses him back.

_The End_


End file.
